


Pub Crawl

by cakeisnotpie



Series: Ship Clint With Everyone [5]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Body Shots, Drunken Shenanigans, Fuck the Canon, London, M/M, Morning Sex, Pub Crawl, Thor is a troll, drunken darts, historical pubs, just having fun, really bad names for body parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:09:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's babysitting Thor, Sif and the Warriors Three. There are historic pubs, darts, body shots, and twitter posts. Really bad names for penises. And maybe, just maybe, the beginning of a beautiful relationship. </p><p>This is the last in my series of "Ship Clint with all the Avengers." I'm excited to hear what you think about this Clint/Thor get-together. I certainly had fun writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pub Crawl

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the fifth in the series of "Ship Clint with all the Avengers." You can check out my Clint/Bruce, Clint/Phil, Clint/Tony, and Clint/Natasha by clicking on my name and checking the series title. 
> 
> In order to make this work, I pretty much had to go FTC, fuck the canon. The movies have made it almost impossible for me to separate Thor/Jane, so this story takes place in an alternate world where Thor hasn't met Jane and Loki, while he's a shit who tried to take over Earth more than once, never took Clint. 
> 
> All the pubs mentioned in the story are real. You can go visit them if you're in London. I played loose and fast with location; a good pub crawl generally takes place in one area where you can easily walk between pubs and these are all over the city. But they all have historical significance.

The first thing Clint thought was that the inside of his mouth felt like the side of a particularly hairy peach. His eyes wouldn’t open, glued closed by gunk, and his hand weighed a hundred pounds all on its own. A mariachi, no make that a punk rock band was playing inside his skull, either the _Mexican Hat Dance_ or _Anarchy in the UK_ , Clint wasn’t sure which. One foot was freezing cold, he couldn’t feel the other, and something very big and very heavy was wrapped around him. If his bladder wasn’t threatening to explode on him, he’d just sink back into blessedly quiet darkness. But he had to pee.

He spit the hair out of his mouth – long, blonde, smooth – and managed to get one eye halfway open then shut it immediately. Sunlight streamed through the floor to ceiling windows, burning into his retina; the band segued into _Should I Stay or Should I Go_ complete with crashing bass beat.

“Aw, fuck,” he moaned. “JARVIS, dim the shades, would ya’?”

He tried again but the rays were still laser bright like sharp little knives. This time he forced himself to keep his eye open, and slowly the room swam into something resembling focus. A big bed, a tangle of sheets, an unfamiliar skyline … no wait, he knew that tall mirrored building. What was it? Some vegetable, okra or … no, the Pickle! That’s it. London. He was in London. And he was there to …

“Aw fuck,” he moaned. “Please, please, please …”

He turned his head, ever so slowly to avoid as much jostling as possible. The man’s face was buried between Clint’s shoulder and the pillow, hair loose and spilling across Clint’s chest and neck. Long muscular expanse of back, the curve of a very fine, very naked ass, and a leg casually tossed across Clint’s own legs, pinning him down.  And pressing into his hip was a very large, very insistent morning erection.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he moaned. What the fuck? He was hung over, buck naked, and in bed with one Thor Odinson. Did he have sex with Thor and not remember it? Wait, what did he remember? He cast backwards to the night before. Yeah, he was in London, babysitting Thor and the Warriors Three and Lady Sif. They’d gone sightseeing, done Westminster and the Tower and then …

* * *

 

**[#1 The Hung, Drawn and Quartered, Great Tower Street](http://hung-drawn-and-quartered.co.uk/) **

“Excellent idea, Friend Clint!” Thor saluted him with his pint of bitter ale. “I enjoyed the tour very much. Learning of Midgardian history is a good way to understand your culture. Though, I must say, I have very little respect for your Henry VIII after what we heard today. He was a man ruled by the wrong appetites.”

“You would have gotten along better with his great grandfather, Henry V,” Clint replied, sipping his own beer. “Was leading his dad’s armies by 17; took most of France and forced the French king to let him marry his daughter. Right, Jackie?”

Jacquelyn Stewart, blue badge holder, tour guide, Ph.D. in English and European History, SHIELD asset, crossed her legs and put her cup of tea down. “After his father took the throne from Richard II, Hal spent most of his time in pubs just like this, drinking and wenching. Everyone thought he was a playboy, but when it came time, he saddled up and defeated his father’s enemies.”

“That sounds familiar,” Fandral said, slapping Thor on the back with a grin.

“So the man could hold his drink?” Vogstagg laughed. “That’s a good trait for a king!”

“No one can hold as much as you,” Hogun told the bigger man.

“Richard II? The one who was young and artistic and … “Clint stopped that train of thought. He had no idea what Thor and the others thought about homosexuality and he wasn’t about to open the conversation. “Ended up in the Tower and died mysteriously, if I remember.”

“That’s him. Just wasn’t cut out to be the king England needed. Maybe today, things would have been different,” Jackie agreed. “Even though technically he was neither York nor Lancaster, I always say the death of Richard II was the beginning of the War of the Roses.”

“Ah, that I understand. Not all my brothers and sisters are cut out to rule. Can you imagine Baldur on the throne?” Thor asked.

“Poetry readings and fresh flowers in every room.” Sif scrunched up her nose. “The guards would wear silver and gold.”

“At least he admits he’d be terrible at it,” Thor agreed. “Best to know what your talents are, am I right, Sif?”

“Do not bring that up again. You may be the Prince, but I can still knee you where it matters.” Sif slammed her empty glass down on table and waved the waitress over for another. “Best to know what your talents are, Thor.”

The others laughed, Thor the loudest. “Seems so many of your kings ended up dead in the Tower,” he said to Jackie.

“And many other leaders too. Hung, drawn and quartered right outside the door of this pub,” Jackie agreed. “From what I’ve read of Norse mythology, if half of it is true, the same could be said about you.”

“She’s got you there, Thor,” Fandral said with a wink to the brunette. “I, for one, would like to hear more of Miss Jackie’s stories while I have another of these heady brews.”

“Aye! That sounds like a plan. We should visit more of these pubs,” Thor said. “While I’ve enjoyed the special places we saw, I’d like to know how Midgardians live today.”

“A pub crawl. That’s what you need,” Clint joked.

“Midgardians crawl to get a drink?” Hogun asked, confused.

“It just means going from pub to pub, usually with a guide, and drinking at each one,” Clint explained. “Sort of a London rite of passage. Get shitfaced drunk and try to crawl home on the Tube.”

“Some people do it for the history,” Jackie chided. “There are very old pubs operating in the city. Drinking at the same bar Jack the Ripper may have picked his victims from or the one where the pilgrims left to Canterbury is a draw to many.” She stopped at Clint’s look and shrugged. “What? Damn good money in pub crawls. Paid for my Lexus.”

“This is what we shall do!” Thor announced. “Miss Jackie shall be our leader!”

Everyone shouted in agreement.

Clint wondered just what he’d gotten himself into.

**_[#4 The George Inn, Southwark](http://www.georgeinthestrand.com/) _ **

“Truly, while this is a fine brew, I think something stronger is in order,” Thor said, flagging down the more than helpful waitress who was flirting with both Hogun and Fandral. “Otherwise we will not reach the … what did you call it … shitfaced level of inebriation. I believe we need what Natasha calls shots.”

“We’ve got some good tequila,” the waitress offered. “Theatre crowd likes it.”

“Aye! We shall try these shots.” Fandral gave her a patented panty dropper smile. “Two for each of us and four for Volstagg here.”

“Ah, no, thank you,” Jackie said. “I’m the guide. Someone has to be sober enough to call a taxi.”

“Yeah, I probably ought to …” Clint started, but Thor slapped him on the back and cut him off.

“Come now, Clint, you do your race a service. I know you can keep up.” Thor grinned down at him and Clint felt that throb of pulse in his dick that always happened when Thor turned on the high wattage charm.

“Fine, fine. Just two. That’s all.”

**_[#6 Anchor Bankside, Park Street](http://www.taylor-walker.co.uk/about/historic-pubs/anchor-bankside-southwark/#.UyMl4_ldVqU) _ **

“Sixteen … Seventeen … Eighteen …” the crowd counted as Volstagg drank the series of shots laid out on the bar. The barrel chested man didn’t seem affected at all by the amount of alcohol he was putting back. Fandral and Hogun were clearly buzzed and that only made the ladies and some guys circle around them even more. Sif had let her hair down and, thank God Clint had talked them out of their Asgardian armor, she had lost the leather jacket she’d been wearing, garnering as much attention as the others combined in her burgundy tank top.

“Does he ever get drunk?” Clint asked Thor who was sitting at a small round table with him and Jackie. “I’ve never seen anyone drink that much and still be upright … well, Tony did once, but he needed Happy and Pepper to get him to the car.”

Clint was feeling no pain himself. Sometime between the last pub and this one, he’d given up worrying about what he should and shouldn’t do, downing his two shots then nursing his pint as the others accepted the challenge to see who could do the most shots in a row. Past buzzed and into drunk territory, but not far enough to turn off all the inhibitor switches in his brain, Clint caught himself staring at Thor’s denim covered thighs, and he made his eyes slide over Sif and scan the rest of the crowd as if he was scoping everyone out.

“Once,” Thor answered. “But only because I was not drinking that day. I usually pass out before Volstagg even complains of double vision.”

Damn man practically glowed with some sort of royal force field of sexiness. The more alcohol went down his throat, the handsomer he got and, considering Clint already wanted to worship at the altar of Thor’s abs, that was saying a hell of a lot.

“He’s quite a man,” Jackie said, then covered her mouth with her hand. She’d made it to this pub before they wore down her resistance and she took her first glass of tequila. “I mean …”

“Volstagg is happily married,” Thor explained kindly. “But Hogun would more than welcome the knowledge of your interest. He and Fandral both are single.”

“As are you,” Clint said, meaning to poke fun at Thor leaving himself off the list. But it came out a little sharper than he expected.

“True,” he admitted with a slight nod of his head. “But knowing Miss Jackie, I suspect Hogun would be a good match for her in temperament.”

“You think so?” Jackie asked, shooting a glance at the dark haired man who was pounding Volstagg on the back and demanding another drink. She eyed him from head to toe. “I do like dark-haired men.”

“Go, talk to him. ‘Tis the only way to know,” Thor encouraged.

Tossing back the last of her pint, she stood up and straightened her sensible button up blouse and khaki pants. A petite woman, Jackie had curves in all the right places that she’d hid behind shapeless clothes. “All right. If you think I have a shot.”

“I think you should more than one shot,” Thor said with a smile.

“You like playing matchmaker?” Clint asked as they both watched the woman’s slow approach.

“Indeed, I do. Why should not all my friends be happy and content?” With just the two of them at the table, Thor’s eyes sparkled with pure mischief. “And if they are busy having sex, they are less likely to notice what I’m about, aren’t they?”

**_[#9 The Dove, Upper Mall](http://dovehammersmith.co.uk/) _ **

“… and then the bilge snipe charged and there I was, no armor, no sword, naked as the day I was born with no way to defend myself …”

Clint blinked and tried to focus on something besides the sound of Thor’s voice and the way that damn black t-shirt hugged the muscles of Thor’s arms. He had a thing about arms. Big and strong enough to hold him down, press his face into the mattress while …

“You best be thinking of your own tale,” Sif said as she sat down beside him. “You are up next.”

“I have a million of them,” he replied. “Action, adventure, romance, tragedy; we’re in London after all. I just need to steal a bit of Billy Shakespeare’s thunder, assuming I remember the details.”

“One of your bards, I take it?” Sif asked. Clint nodded and looked down at the empty glass in front of him. When did he finish that off? And how many was that again? “I was quite taken with your Globe and the performance we saw there. Such truth in the tale of two lovers and their unhappy endings. We cannot always choose where our hearts will go.”

He wasn’t that far gone that he missed the wistfulness in Sif’s voice and the way her eyes strayed to Thor. “Oh,” he said because, right, that last tequila shot may or may not have shut down the part of his brain where tact come from. “You and Thor? I didn’t know.”

One black eyebrow raised and she laughed, a silvery sound that made heads swivel her direction. “Thor? He’s like my brother. No, fortune has a sense of humor. My heart decided on the one man who could never return anyone’s love. And I have suffered for his apathy.”

In a flash of insight, Clint realized she was talking about Loki, as in, try to take over the Earth and rule it, crazier than a bag of cats Loki. “Shit. That sucks.” He didn’t try to temper his choice of words. “Karma’s a bitch though, so he’ll get his in the end.”

“Oh, I like you more and more.” She slapped his back and he almost fell off the stool before he caught himself on the edge of the table. “I am glad you are part of Thor’s band here on Midgard.”

A burst of applause and Clint’s eyes were drawn back to the man in question. He’d tied his hair back with a piece of ribbon he’d found somewhere and he bowed as he finished his tale, t-shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of tawny skin and the top curve of his belly button. Clint’s dick jumped for joy, drunkenly encouraging Clint to go run his tongue over the bit of hip bone visible.

“Ah, so that is how the wind blows.” Sif’s face turned thoughtful. “I did not know you preferred men. Now things make sense.”

“There’s no wind blowing anywhere,” Clint protested. Last thing he wanted was Thor to know just how open Clint was to the idea of being fucked into the mattress by him. Team dynamics, blah, blah, all that stuff Steve Rogers was always going on about. “Nope, nothing.”

“So you prefer women? Or is it both?” Sif asked, one end of her mouth turned up in a smirk. “There’s no shame in a man laying with another man. On Asgard, assignations must only be consensual and participants of age.”  

“Ah, yeah, well, sure, I’m bi, I mean I go both ways.” Good Lord but his tongue was all tied up and numb. “But that doesn’t mean I want Thor to jump my bones. Oh, shit. Look, just forget I said anything, okay?”

“If you wish,” Sif acknowledged. “But it is your turn,” she said, handing him another beer, “and I do not think Thor would mind the jump on bit.” She shoved him towards the bar and winked when he stared back at her.

**_[#12 Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, Wine Office Court](http://www.cheshirecheeselondon.co.uk/) _ **

“No, no, tis true!” Thor thundered. “Hawkeye never misses! I have seen this myself.”

“Nay, a mere human could not aim with as much alcohol as Clint has consumed in his system,” Fandral replied, slamming his third empty shot glass on the counter. “I call the challenge. Come, let Clint prove his acumen.”

He should have stopped drinking two pubs ago, Clint knew. His fingers were going numb and, honestly, he couldn’t remember the last pub’s name much less the mini-history lesson Jackie had given them while seated on Hogun’s lap. But he was damn well not going to let a slur against his abilities go unanswered.

“What do you have in mind?” He asked, leaning carefully back, his elbows on the bar for stability. Thor was beside him, and three women at a small table were eyeing him like he was after dinner dessert. Clint couldn’t blame them. All the Asgardians were bigger than life, filled with energy and emitting a certain kind of charm that drew all sorts of attention. Frankly, Clint was surprised that some of SHIELD’s London operatives had taken this long to show up and that they were sitting quietly outside in their car. It was good PR, though, this evening out without any broken windows, just the one small incident with a wooden chair. Twitter was alive with pics and lots of selfies with one of them in the background, lots of smiles and companionable poses.

“I see a dartboard in the back,” Thor offered.

That’s how Clint found himself in a private room after another drink for good measure, tossing darts with Fandral, Volstagg and Hogun. With each bull’s-eye he made, the others shouted and clapped except for Fandral.

“This is too easy,” Fandral said after another round of drinks and six more perfect shots from Clint. “We’ll make it harder.”

Further away, behind his back, one eye closed, balanced on a chair, mid-flip … Clint pulled out all his tricks, egged on by the astonishment with each hit.

“Did I not tell you?” Thor poked Fandral with his elbow. “Admit defeat and we can crawl to the next pub.”

“Blindfold. Drunk, blindfolded, spin him around,” Fandral insisted.

“You can make that shot?” Clint didn’t believe the other man could.

“Indeed.” He pulled off his shirt and tossed it to Hogun who tied it around his eyes. With a laugh, Sif spun him until he staggered; nose up, Fandral scented the air and then threw the dart. It landed in the second ring; he crowed with delight when he saw it. “Beat that!”

“Here.” Thor’s shirt was in his hands and Clint lost his train of thought at the expanse of skin and ripped muscles. Then the soft cotton wrapped around his face and he could smell Thor’s cologne. His dick got so hard that he was sure no one could miss it; the throbbing pulse of blood distracted his brain. As hands turned him around, he could sense the heat of the bodies, and he wondered just how he’d gotten into this situation, letting a team mate become one of his hand job fantasies.

He didn’t bother to aim or even pretend to; he just flipped the dart and bowed. The roar of sound told him all he needed to know. Arms grabbed him and lifted; Thor’s voice boomed in his ear.

“The greatest marksman in the nine realms!” He declared and Clint was disappointed when Thor set him back down and let go. Once the blindfold was off, the others slapped his back and even Fandral hugged him.

“That was amazing,” Fandral told him. “I would kiss you…” he leaned in to whisper in the midst of the noise, “but I don’t think I’m the one you want.”

He laughed and left Clint standing with Thor’s shirt, the room spinning, the gleaming skin of the blonde prince at the center of it all.

[# ** _15 Old Mitre, Ely Court_**](http://yeoldemitreholborn.co.uk/)

“Come on, Clint, your turn.” Sif pushed him forward towards the table. “Who’s got the salt?”

Volstagg poured the tequila in the glass and balanced it on Fandral’s head; the salt was spread on one shoulder and the lime laid on the other. Leave it to these guys to turn body shots into some sort of warrior challenge. Licking along the line of muscle, Clint caught the glass in his mouth, drank, sat it back down without displacing a single hair, and sucked up the lime before spitting it into the trash. The alcohol burned down his throat and he reeled back a step. Sif caught his arm and the whole circle ooohed and aaahed. Money had already changed hands about who would be the first to go down. Clint had actually bet on himself because Jackie had stopped drinking, and he was the only vanilla human left.

“Hey, hey, don’t count me out yet.” He didn’t know where his shirt had gone; his jacket was over the back of the chair but his grey Henley was nowhere to be found. They were in a private area of the bar called The Closet; it was a snug, small and enclosed. “Let’s do this.”

The dice rolled and Clint wasn’t surprised when it came up with Thor’s number. They were all in on it, arranging seating, pushing them together. Question was if Thor was part of the conspiracy or oblivious to the whole thing.

Stretching out on the bench, Clint bent one knee as he put his foot on the seat and dropped the other on the floor. Sif drew a line of salt crossways across his chest, a smug smile on her face, put the lime in Clint’s mouth and poured the tequila in his belly button, the clear liquid pooling out onto his abs.

Blue eyes, warm and inviting, stared into his and the world narrowed down to just the two of them in the hot room. This close, he could see the tiny crinkles at the corner of those eyes. Skin slick with sweat, Clint held his breath as calloused hands came to rest on his bicep and curled around his hip. Hair feathered out as Thor bent over and licked at the salt, being sure to swipe Clint’s aching nipple as he passed. Lime juice trickled down his throat as he bit back a moan. Thor’s beard tickled as he sucked the liquor up in one slurp, and then Clint tasted salt and tequila and lime and Thor was kissing him and gone before it even registered that he’d closed his eyes.

“I believe I could like this game,” Thor said.

Clint couldn’t help but agree.

“Jackie’s turn!” Hogun shouted merrily, breaking the moment

* * *

 

“You’re awake.” Thor mumbled into the back of his neck. His beard tickled the sensitive skin behind Clint’s ear.

“So, um, did we … I mean … was it good?” Clint squinted at Thor, the sun highlighting the gold of his hair.  

A kiss on his neck and Thor rubbed his cock against his hip. “You wish to know if I … what did you call it … pounded you into the mattress?”

Aw, hell. That sounded like something he’d say. But he couldn’t remember. Surely if they’d … he stretched, looking for aches. Didn’t help. His head was throbbing too hard to tell the difference.

“You did beg prettily to suck my cock and for me to give it to you with my purple-helmeted warrior?” Thor continued, tilting his face up and giving Clint a smug look.

Clint sat up too fast and his stomach spun. When he had it under control again he looked at Thor’s shit eating grin. “I said no such thing. The mattress, yeah, and I might have asked about a blowjob, but I would never call your dick anything like that. Maybe Little Mjolnir or your hammer or something, but purple-helmeted warrior? Where the hell did that come from?”

“One of your Midgardian romantic stories. On the tablet Tony gave me. Do you know you can just click and select any tale you wish?” He pushed up on his elbows and rolled over on his back in the big king sized bed, giving Clint a full frontal view of just how ripped he was everywhere. Everywhere. “Is your head aching? I have a cure for that if you’d like.”

“Sure. Asgardian hangover remedy. What is it, honey mead or something?” Clint would give anything a try at the moment. “And you still haven’t answered my question.

The morning light fell across the golden expanse of skin as Thor walked into the bathroom, completely uninhibited.  Clint’s bladder took that moment to remind him of other pressing needs and he eased his way off the bed; if Thor didn’t care, then neither did he. Yeah, right.

“Trust me. Had we had sex, you would remember it.” A very smug Thor was back with a vial of what looked like black ash. “Put this on your tongue and let it dissolve. It will absorb the toxins left in your body and rehydrate you.”

“In for a penny,” Clint said. It was cool at first, then it burned like the spiciest chili, rolling through his sinus passages and up into his head. “Oh, hell.” Coughing, Clint snagged a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and drank half of it in one swallow. “That was nasty.”

“It is medicine. Even on Asgard, medicine tastes like shit,” Thor said with a laugh.

“Warn a guy, will you?” Clint asked as he went into the bathroom. He took the time to grab the complimentary toothbrush and get rid of most of the cottonmouth before he came back out.  “Aw, now you don’t play fair.”

“I don’t play. I win.” Thor was stretched out on the bed, hand slowly working up and down on his very fine, very large, very hard cock. His skin was golden in the morning light; completely at ease, his blue eyes lingered on Clint’s chest and legs, and Clint’s cock stirred under the intense gaze.

“Fuck.” If this was a game, he’d already lost and, honestly, he couldn’t care less. Loosing meant getting what he wanted.

“We’ve got all day. We’ll get to that.” Thor agreed.

Clint snorted in laughter as he crossed the space and climbed on the bed, taking a moment to admire the view before leanimg over the big man. “I only beg when I’m drunk,” he said, palms flat on the bed on either side of Thor’s head.

“In Asgard we have another remedy for hangovers … the hair of the dog that bit you. I shall have to get you drunk again then.” He wrapped a hand around Clint’s neck and tugged him down for a kiss. Thor, it turned out, was an amazing kisser. Like, Olympic caliber, full on ‘see-stars’ type of kisses that sent ripples all the way down to Clint’s toes and made him moan into the warm recesses of Thor’s mouth for more. They made Clint lose all ability for rational thought and drained every last bit of blood down into to his cock. The kissing went on for a few hours or minutes, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care.

Thor’s hand brushed along Clint’s back, settling into the dip, fingers lightly grazing the curve of Clint’s ass. Clint swung a knee over Thor to bring their bodies in line. Without pause, Thor wrapped his fist around both of their erections together. Clint moaned at the contact, dragged from his kissed-out daze by the friction. Thor was a multi-tasker; he kept stroking, kissing and stroking and stroking and kissing until Clint’s head was spinning from the sensation. He knew Thor had stamina, but this? Leisurely kisses on a sunny morning, slowly building. All the surreptitious looks, the fantasies before he fell asleep, the imagined touches as he jacked off in the shower … none of them came close to the reality of being in bed with Thor.

A quick surge of muscle and Thor flipped Clint onto his back, looming over him; hands free now, Clint ran his fingers down the lines of Thor’s back and clenched over that perfect ass, urging him to put his hips into it. Thor broke the kiss and looked down at him. “Finally getting anxious, are we?”

“Human here,” Clint acknowledge by bucking up into Thor’s hand. “You may last all day, but I’m … ahhhhh.”

With a twist of his wrist, Thor stole Clint’s ability to talk, then Thor’s mouth was sucking divots of skin and nipping all the way down the line of Clint’s neck,. He licked Clint’s nipple and the rush was  as strong as the best tequila, making Clint’s cock jump in Thor’s hand.

“Oh, fuck,” Clint moaned. The whisper soft drag of tendrils of Thor’s hair pushed him up to the very edge. “I am so going to …”

He came, back bowed and mouth open to drag in air as his orgasm hit him hard and fast. Languid satisfaction filled his body, but he missed the warmth of Thor’s body enough to open his eyes and lift up on his elbows. Thor was working his cock, moaning now, getting close to his own climax.

“Need some help there?” Clint asked.

“Isn’t the phrase ‘need a hand?’” Thor asked between breaths.

“Not necessarily.” Rolling up, he pushed Thor’s hand aside and took as much of Thor’s length in his mouth as he could.

“Aye.” Thor groaned. “Much better.”

Clint had thought about this – you didn’t fight alongside someone, especially with the crazy situations they found themselves in, and not see things – and he wanted to taste, to feel the weight on his tongue and the flex of muscle beneath his hands. That he’d just had the best kisses and orgasm of his life made it only better. To reduce Thor to incoherent babble … that was going right to the top of Clint’s list of things to do again.

“Clint, ah, that’s good.” Thor breathed his name and tugged Clint off in time to finish himself with his hand, spurting on his chest and hand.  His chest rose and fell for a few moments before he spoke again. “I did not think to use protection.  Forgive me. Next time I will be better prepared.”

“Next time,” Clint said, “will need to wait a bit. I need a time to recharge. Heavy drinking and morning sex takes some out of a guy.”

“You did well last night,” Thor said, patting Clint on the shoulder. “Had Fandral and Hogun not wanted to return with their dates, you would have kept going to the next pub. Only after I pointed you in here and shut the door did you collapse on the bed.”

“Nothing happened?” No wonder Clint couldn’t remember. At least no one saw him pass out except Thor. “So you undressed me and crawled in bed naked yourself?” he teased.

“Aye. I had hoped that when you awoke you would still be interested in feeling the power of my hammer,” he said with a chuckle.

Clint’s laughter escaped and he couldn’t seem to stop for a few seconds. “Oh, God, you are such a troll. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I am not a troll. Trolls are miserable things with pockmarked hides and the stench of a garbage pile,” Thor protested and Clint couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.

“To troll. To lead someone on and make them believe something that isn’t true. Like pretending you’re all ‘I don’t understand Midgardian ways or language.’ The power of my hammer, my ass.”

“Ah, yes. I am very willing to use the power of my hammer on your ass now that you ask.” Thor wiggled his eyebrows at Clint who burst out in more laughter. “I crave pancakes and some of your crispy bacon. And a pint of fine bitters.” In a smooth motion, he was up and crossing the room, opening the door to the living portion of the suite. “We would break our fast,” he shouted. “Anyone else?”

“And a fine morning to you too,” Fandral said as he stepped into view wearing only his pants, hair askew, a series of hickeys running along his collarbone. Clint, still laughing, only had time to jerk the sheet around his hips before the others peeked in. “But I can see you’ve already been enjoying yourselves. I shall order us a full repast. With all he drank last night, I imagine Clint needs food … and you will wish to clean up.”

“Good God, Thor,” Clint complained as Thor shut the door in Fandral’s grinning face. He flopped back on the bed. “Clothes, dude. People don’t walk around naked and covered in jizz, okay?”

“Why robe?  Clothes will just be in the way later.” He was poking fun at Clint. “But a rain shower does sound nice. Would you and your arrow of love like to join me?”

 “Oh, no.” Clint shook his head and didn’t move. “No archery jokes.”

“One-eyed wonder? Your heat seeking missile?” Thor continued.

“You have got to show me these books you’re reading.” Clint gave up and rolled off the bed. “Seriously. Don’t ever say those things to Tony, okay? He will not let it go.”

“I’m sure he knows even more colorful euphemisms for my hammer,” Thor said, letting Clint lead the way into the bathroom. “But perhaps you could explain what the color gray has to do with sex?”

Clint moaned and closed his eyes. “Dude. No. Just no.”


End file.
